A Soiled Cap
by Sunshine399
Summary: Keith is wandering alone, trying to find out what became of his best friend Ellis.


The cap was stamped into the ground, only half-visible in the muddy puddle it lay in. The white tow truck, now stained rusty brown, was barely distinguishable from the faded blue. In fact, Keith almost missed it. If he hadn't been following the mess of tracks scraped into the mud, he never would have spotted the abused accessory.

He bent down, gently tugging the precious headwear from the soggy dirt. It was caked with the mud, and beneath that Keith could see it was equally soaked with blood. "Dangit El, what mess did you get your sorry self into now…?" Keith's voice was soft, but strained. As he straightened his knees screamed in protest, legs shaking from walking far too long without rest. He ignored them. If he could survive getting bombed by the army, he could survive this. He had to.

Cap in hand, Keith shouldered his heavy rifle and continued to trudge forward. It wasn't twilight yet, but dark rainclouds gathered overhead and cut off what light remained of the late afternoon. It had rained that morning too, and the wet earth smelled unnaturally clean. Keith hated it. Clean earth meant the smell of fresh blood and corpses was that much stronger. He said a silent prayer he wouldn't find either at the end of the trail he followed.

The tracks had been dragged in the sludgy mud hours ago, but not over a day. Of that Keith was certain; the rain would have washed them away otherwise. He hadn't been much of a hunter before the apocalypse, but with the zombies he'd learned some things quickly. Not enough to help him find Ellis, though. He'd been looking for a year now, and this was the closest he'd ever gotten.

The grumbling of a displeased deity interrupted his thoughts, and Keith shot a dark look at the storm overhead. "Y'all needa SHUT UP. No one likes your dumb rain anyway!" He received no response; rain gods were above petty insults thrown by mortal men. Keith gripped Ellis' cap tighter, his knuckles aching. They were bruised and cut, much like the rest of his body, and the dull pain reminded him of just how mortal he was.

Despite all his adventures with El, he knew his best friend exaggerated the stories. Heck, he probably made up half of them. Keith didn't mind, usually. The tall tales had given Keith a sense of invincibility before all this happened. Under Ellis' encouragement, Keith had been much more willing to do extreme things. He'd had an audience. He'd been idolized. And now, he was almost dead because he'd let it go to his ego. There is no place for Wild Bill in the apocalypse, Keith mused sourly. He glanced at his various injuries, none of them bad enough to kill but all of them incredibly painful. Stupid.

As tense seconds of hiking melded into hours, Keith noticed changes in his environment. The first one was the silence, thick and heavy. There was no wind, and by extension no rustling of foliage to mask his steps. The humidity in the air caused his clothes to stick uncomfortably to his body, and Keith flinched as a jagged bolt of light tore across the sky. The crack of thunder shook the ground several seconds later. Keith could smell the oncoming rain, and knew if he didn't hurry the tracks which he suspected… hoped? were Ellis' would soon disappear. He quickened his pace, limping along and making a mental note of how he could no longer feel several of his toes. That was alright. It would just be another of El's stories. Assuming, of course, he could find his best friend.

Keith squinted in the dim light, trying to see where these tracks were taking him. He'd sure wasted a lot of his time if they lead to nowhere. Faintly, Keith could see a glimmer ahead. It seemed a ways off, but he felt a surge of hope fill his breast and began walking with renewed vigor.

Another concussive wave of sound rocked the sky, and Keith cursed as he felt several cold droplets spatter across his neck and arms. He glanced at the dirty cap in his hand, hesitating a moment before reaching up and fitting it over his messy hair. He reached behind him, grasping his rifle and swinging it around so he could hold it ready to use. If he had seen the light ahead, undoubtedly whatever infected were nearby had as well. The driving drops advanced their gears as he pressed forward, arms and legs shaking from exhaustion. Keith hadn't had proper rest in weeks. Months. But then, had anyone? What right had he to complain of something that was common nowadays?

Keith slowed, forcing his thoughts to quiet as he realized he was no longer alone. He could hear the slow shuffling of several infected only a dozen yards away on either side, all with the same destination. If Ellis really was over there, he'd be in trouble soon. Keith could see source of the light now, and breathed a soft sigh as he realized it was some sort of cabin. That was much easier to defend than a campground.

With a glance at his dark surroundings, Keith went as fast as he could without attracting attention. He managed to pull ahead of the oncoming hoard and reach the edge of a circle of trees before they did, looking out at a small, quaint building. It was a hunter's lodge, and someone had lit the fireplace inside. It was a good sign, if not a smart one. With a quick glance back to confirm he was safely ahead, Keith stepped out of the safety of the woods and limped quickly to the cabin door. It was old, and thick. Keith could tell because there were several long, deep scars in the polished wood where a witch had tried to get inside. "Good ol' El," Keith muttered, raising a hand to rap quickly on the frame. "Takin care o' himself as always." He didn't get an answer from the other side, however, and Keith frowned. He glanced back, hesitating before risking another sharp rap on the door. He could hear an annoyed growl behind him, and faint moans beyond that. His heart quickened its pace, and he looked back at the door with increasing anxiety. "El? Ya in there? El, it's me! Your ol' buddy Keith!" Keith looked back again, hands trembling until he tightened them. Had he gotten ahead of himself? There really wasn't a way to confirm the tracks had been Ellis'. In fact, Keith didn't really know why he'd thought to follow them in the first place. It had just seemed like a good idea at the time. He realized wryly that that was how all of his worst adventures started. He was about to knock again when he noticed something stuck in the doorframe. A small scrap of faded, yellow cloth. Ellis. Keith tried the doorknob, hesitation gone now. He needed to get inside, now, before the horde broke the treeline. To his surprise, it opened on creaky hinges.

The inside was warm, a friendly looking fire flickering in a stone hearth. A plush rug was laid out on the wooden floor, and several hunting trophies donned the walls. Keith hurriedly stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind him and barring it with a thick oak plank before studying further. There hadn't been any bodies. That was good enough for him. As he turned back, Keith shivered. He hated being alone, especially in a cabin filled with stuffed animals. While surrounded by zombies. Looking for a friend who might be dead. While it was raining. And dark.

Keith checked his rifle, flicking the safety off and ignoring the soft thuds on the door behind him as the horde finally caught up. They could wait for tomorrow. He didn't care to take care of them right now, and it was clear this cabin could hold up for at least one night longer, if not a few weeks. The only thing left before rest would be to scour the house for a friend. Keith ignored the contradiction the live weapon in his hands created with that last bit, choosing instead to approach one of the two doors at the other end of the sitting room. The first was a bathroom, a bit dirty but usable. Nothing unusual stood out to him about it, and he quickly left.

The other room was a bedroom, with the curtains drawn and the lights turned off. Keith stepped inside slowly, wrinkling his nose at the scent of sickness and infection. "El…?" His voice was barely audible, and he took another cautious step forward.

A figure lay on the bed, curled on their side with their back to Keith. Their shirt was off, revealing gashes along their back that wrapped around to their gut. Keith couldn't tell how deep they were. The stench of infection got stronger the closer Keith got, but he didn't back away. If that was his friend on the bed, he needed to be there. "Ellis? Ol buddy, is that you?" The figure lay still.

Keith lowered his gun and stepped around to the other side of the bed, his eyes adjusted to the dim light that filtered in through the door. Behind him, he could hear raindrops splatter against the window pane, disguising the moans of the infected outside. Keith crouched down, looking at the face of the one who lay on the bed. It was Ellis, but at the same time… it wasn't.

The young man's features were contorted with pain, grime and blood smeared across his face. This Ellis had worry lines creasing his brow, a clenched jaw, and a wildly feral look in his half-open eyes. A blood-encrusted shirt was pressed against his gut, a dark stain creeping beneath it on the mattress. Gone was the carefree grin, the friendly attitude and welcoming arms. This Ellis didn't even recognize Keith, it seemed. This Ellis likely didn't recognize anything anymore.

"Ellis..?" Keith felt cold, as if his heart had stopped pumping blood. With trembling hands, Keith took the soiled cap from his head and placed it in front of his friend. "You dropped this, buddy." His voice shook, and bile rose up his throat. In the darkness, Keith swore Ellis glanced up at him, but it was hard to tell. "Ah came back El. Just like ah promised. Ah'm here now. Ah…" Keith's legs gave out, no longer able to support his weight. He tried to tell himself to snap out of it, that he had expected this and knew that his friend had probably not survived. He lied.

"Ah'm sorry El, ah… Ah didn't mean ta leave ya alone for so long… Ah'm sorry.. Ah'm here now, El, ah'm so sorry..." Keith rocked back and forth, lips repeating the same words on loop. The reality of the situation refused to set, and Keith only stopped minutes later when a raspy, quiet voice wheezed from the curled figure on the bed. Keith leaned forward, desperately trying to catch what Ellis said. "Too… late." Keith recoiled, the words hitting him as hard as a tank. "Ellis, ah-" "Stop." Ellis tried to move, but he'd barely raised his arm when a wrack of shivers coursed down his spine. "Jusstop Keith. Stop." Keith sat back, numb. Behind him, he could hear a thud. Infected at the window. He ignored them.

"Kill me." Keith closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Naw, El, you know ah can't do that. You'll be okay. You gotta be okay. We'll get through this together, you hear me? Keith's got you." "Except," Ellis rasped, eyes accusatory, "You didn't. You promised Keith. You-" He broke off, a strangled gurgle coming from his throat. His body heaved, and blood spattered the mattress. The scent of bile caused Keith's own stomach to buck, but he repressed the urge and clenched his hands. Ellis' breathing was labored and slow, barely noticeable as more than a keening wheeze. "Kill me, Keith. Ah want you to do it." Ellis' voice was quiet. Keith waited for him to say more, but he didn't. "El, ah… ah…" He couldn't deny the request. He would have asked the same thing in Ellis' place. There was no point to dragging out Ellis' suffering any more, and he wouldn't thank Keith for trying to save him when it was so very clear he'd been too late.

Keith forced himself to rise, scooping his rifle from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "Ah'm sorry El." Ellis gave no response, simply watching Keith as he raised the gun. "Ah'm sorry…" Keith couldn't bear to look, and he turned away as his finger squeezed the trigger.

Several minutes later, Keith emerged from the bedroom considerably more drained than when he had went in. He no longer carried his rifle, and his shoulders slumped with defeat. His exhaustion seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks, weighing him down from his heart and his head. Instead of collapsing on one of the couches, however, Keith shuffled to the door, raising shaking hands to the oak bar and shoving it from it's metal brace. "Ah promised you El," he said softly as he pushed the door open, ignoring the squealing hinges. "Ah promised you ah'd be there till the end." Keith stepped forward, the rain streaking down his dirty face and leaving tracks where his tears should have been. "Ah'm sorry, buddy." The infected converged towards him, and he didn't move. He forced himself to take a small step forward, shuddering involuntarily at the bared, bloody teeth, the torn flesh, the stench. The infected were on him in seconds, finishing the job Ellis had started with two small words. Behind Keith, a soiled cap rested on top of a rifle in the fireplace, the yellow tongues of flame hungrily licking the memorial.

"Too late."


End file.
